


Repetition

by wrathwritesthings (leviathan_wrath)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Deaf Reader, F/M, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompto has a Crush, Reader-Insert, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 04:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11981847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leviathan_wrath/pseuds/wrathwritesthings
Summary: Prompto works up the courage to approach you.





	Repetition

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested on tumblr. The request reads: _Hi can i request Prompto trying to get closer to his deaf crush; at first little messages on post its and eventually confessing to her with sign language?_
> 
> Personally, my ASL is very limited since I only learned a bit in high school, so I kept out superfluous descriptions of signing ‘cause I didn’t know reader preferences… or if y'all would want ASL at all.
> 
> Anyway, here ya go! Don’t ask why one of the only things I know in ASL is how to ask for someone’s number (though tbh the main things I know in French, Spanish, and Gaeilge are expletives and pick-up lines)… 
> 
> **Warnings:** Too Much Fluff, Second Hand Shame, Misunderstandings, Prompto is Determined, OOC Galore, But Like… I Think He Would be Kinda Forward TBH, Slow Build Up, The Most Glacial Build Up, Crappy Writing, AU, Intense Tense Flippage, Though this is F!Reader I Just Realized it Reads Pretty Neutral

**Repetition**

He’s always there in the same café, sitting in that same spot, trying to look like he’s reading the same menu, utilizing the same tactics to sneak looks at you. You recognized him immediately from school. You’d had some of the same classes as him for years, after all. For holidays he always had some note or a treat for you; offered with a shy smile and a blush, his raven-haired best friend behind him for encouragement.

But, wow, it’s been _years_. Well, it feels like it’s been centuries since high school but it hasn’t been all that long. 

It’s just that Insomnia is a massive place and you never expected to run into Prompto Argentum again. He looks less devious without the Crown Prince at his side- even _if_ he’s currently peeking at you from over his menu, blue eyes blinking owlishly before a worker comes over to take his order. He orders the same thing as always: Honeydew bubble tea. You can tell by that distinctive green color.

Eyes glance down at the vibrant green post-it he’d stuck on the table next to your laptop when he first came in. It’s the same message: “Hi. :)”

You’d responded with the same smile and nod before returning to your not-so-important but still enthralling work of finding funny stuff to waste time. You aren’t exactly sure what he’s doing here but you have an inkling. However, there’s a small, doubtful part of you that contradicts that inkling. It makes you sigh and go back to sipping your tea and browsing random sites on your laptop before you carry on with your day. And, as usual, you can’t keep him out of your head. 

Not with how he stares and stares, and stares some more. It’s equal parts infuriating and intriguing.

Maybe he’s actually waiting for someone? It’s a possibility. Maybe he’s looking at the door near you, waiting for his person to show up, and not actually looking _at_ _you_? You always leave before him, after all, so there’s no telling what happens after you pack up for the day and leave. You’d know if you bothered to ask any of the workers who watch this daily ritual like it’s a daytime soap opera; placing bets on when the blond will approach you or if you’ll finally get frustrated enough to approach him first.

Whenever you leave, Prompto waits about five minutes to not seem suspicious (A huge failure. He _screams_ suspicion.) before leaving the café as well. He doesn’t follow you or anything _weird_ like that. He just goes and meets up with Noctis and continues on with his day as usual, eagerly anticipating the following day where he’ll get to see you at lunch in that quaint little café, hidden away from the bustling city center.

And despite how he’s been doing the same thing for the past month, today is different. At least, he tells himself it’s different. 

He has to give his legs and his nerves a stern talking to, because they apparently didn’t get the memo that today is _the day_ : The day that he finally gets the courage to approach you. He even brought two pads of post-its for the occasion and he checked to make sure both pens were in working order. He’d told Noct it might be easier to text you and then the prince _had_ to point out that that would require the blond asking for your number. It was way too much way too soon. 

Prompto thinks he’s already creeping you out with the greetings. He doesn’t know you’ve kept each one despite how your best friend had signed to you that it wasn’t very “green” of you when you told him of this odd ritual. You’d simply rolled your eyes and informed him that _sentiment_ outweighed everything else.

It’s when you’re in the middle of drinking that Prompto finally decides to make his move.

And he has quite possibly the _worst_ timing in the world.

His mindset is that since you’re distracted, it’ll make his approach that much more casual; even as he feels his stomach twist up and bile bubbles up the back of his throat… Oh, _no_ … Gods, he’s had the biggest crush on you since _middle school_. But you never seemed to notice him outside of exchanging gifts in class or when one of your friends would catch him watching you and point it out to you. Then you’d smile awkwardly and he’d feel like dying.

The fact that you’re deaf never served as any sort of “deterrent” to him. Though some people ended up treating you with kid gloves rather unnecessarily (they obviously meant no harm, but it was tiring), Prompto was never one of those people. All he’s ever wanted was to get to know you. Sure, his initial interest in you _was_ pretty superficial, ‘cause he thinks you’re just so damn beautiful, but his crush grew and grew rather than wilting and dying off like any other crush.

So, when he was walking to the arcade and saw you strolling down the sidewalk and entering this café a month back…? What immediately came to mind was how he’d squandered those moments with you in high school. With each note he handed you to wish you luck on exams or to have a great break, he’d been tempted to confess. But each note was _just_ a wish of luck and pleasantries, nothing more. And he’ll squander his opportunities no longer.  

All you know is that one moment you’re looking at the amber liquid in your cup, peacefully alone at your little table with your laptop open and playing a video on something called “pocket cooking” that’s gone viral, and then the next moment a fidgety looking blond is sitting across from you, looking like stress-vomiting is a very real possibility in the not-so-distant future for him. 

Tea sputters out of your nose.

There’s a flailing of limbs as you cough and wipe your face off with a napkin. As Prompto is furiously writing on his neon green pad of post-its, a waitress who has taken a bit of a shine to you as one of the regulars hurries over and signs to ask if you’re okay, deliberately shooting Prom an irritated look. Between wiping down the table and fighting off a scorching hot blush that you swear might turn you into a fireball, you sign to her that you’re good- a quick, effortless gesture.

After she leaves, still giving Prom the stink-eye, you smile and look to the blond who… What was that just now that he directed toward the waitress? Was that _envy_? And then you see the sloppily and hastily written apology he’d scribbled down on his post-it. There are dashes where the ink went out and he’d tried to press harder to get the message down. 

You bite your lip and extend your hand, gesturing that you want to write. In response to his apology, you write: “You’re fine. It’s no big deal.”

Blue eyes flicker over your message once you return the note and Prompto pulls a grimace. He points to your laptop and your eyes fly to it. 

Well… Dammit. It’s an effort not to overreact. But for the sake of the human cherry sitting across from you, you keep a level head at the sight of your tea-splattered laptop screen and sticky keyboard. Head nods to the message in his hand to reemphasize your point, even though you’re more than a bit peeved.

“I just wanted to say hello,” his next message reads, neon green paper getting stuck to his side of the table as he discards the previous message.

When you reach for the pad, he remembers himself and yanks out a neon pink pad for you to use with a chocobo-patterned pen. Eyebrow quirks at his choice of stationery but you take it with an appreciative smile. “But you always say hello,” you reply, picking up the post-it he’d coolly smacked down on the table as he’d passed by upon entering the café. You wave it around with its chicken-scratch message and crooked smiley face.

Remarkably, his blush deepens, caramel colored freckles nearly getting washed out with that crimson flush. It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts before writing, “That’s true.”

You snort. 

Who knew the kid who was always stirring up trouble in class was such an adorable dork? His shyness has that little inkling poking its head up again. You’re about to boldly ask him what he’s really after, dorky pen in hand, when you’re interrupted. A reminder pops up on your dirty laptop screen and you shoot Prompto an apologetic smile. Instead of your forward message, other words are quickly scribbled down: “Gotta go. Hope you have a nice day!”

Prompto marvels at how fast you pack up and leave. Is he wearing some sort of repellent? Does he smell bad? Does he stink of desperation or something like that? Alone at that little wooden table in the cozy café, he slumps in his chair and sighs. “I wanted to say _hello_?” He whines to himself, slapping his hands over his face and sinking further down against the chair to where he nearly slides off of it and onto the tiled floor.

The next day, he doesn’t approach you.

The repetition continues for another painful week.

In that time, you slowly become convinced that he _is_ actually waiting for someone else and only struck up a conversation with you because _you’d_ been shooting him looks when you thought he was staring. It’s just embarrassing enough to keep you in your seat and stifle any urge to ask him outright. It’s just embarrassing enough for you to begin to pretend you don’t immediately see his greeting post-its during that tense week.

But in that time, Prompto pretends his feelings aren’t hurt by the loss of your smile and he’s glued to the internet; watching videos on sign language and looking at step-by-step diagrams with meanings. Because writing on the post-it? Gods, trying to apologize to you _via post-it_ was a disaster! There was such a disconnect and it just felt so impersonal to him. It also gave him too much time to rethink everything and panic…

And as he practices signing in a mirror, trying to get his gestures down perfectly while also speaking normally because he recalls that you’re pretty good at lip-reading (or at least it seemed like it back in school…), his confidence grows and he becomes more determined. It’s as if making signs with his hands defuses a bit of his tension- giving it some sort of outlet that hunching over a post-it, sweating bullets, and scribbling couldn’t do for him.

On a Friday. It happens on a Friday. 

You’re greeted with friendly waves and a whiff of warm, baking bread as you enter the café and sit at your usual table near the door. The window is to your right, affording you a nice view of the shops across the bustling street. Fragrant, floral tea is sipped and you pick at your salad. He’s late. Usually he arrives about ten minutes after you get your order. A frown tugs down the corners of your mouth and you stare at your laptop screen, not really seeing it.

Then the door opens and in walks Prompto Argentum. Instead of slapping a post-it down on your table and continuing on his merry way to his spot two tables down from yours, he pulls out the chair opposite from you and sits. He takes a deep breath, eyes downcast and staring at the table, pale lashes fluttering as he gathers his nerve. This sudden change has you closing your laptop, eyebrow quirked. Blue eyes lock with yours, gaze intense, and you feel your heart leap.

“Okay, man, you can do this,” Prom hisses to himself under his breath, hyping himself up.

The moment he raises his hands, you can feel a blush blossoming across your cheeks and down your neck. No way. Did he really…? _No way_. That inkling comes up again, totally unimpeded. Because Prompto Argentum wouldn’t learn sign language just to talk to you if he was only waiting around for someone to show up. And then you want to laugh. Because if that’s really the case? That’s _a lot_ of bubble tea just to see you every day.

“(y/n).” He signs your name slowly, carefully, and your heart flutters. All the while, in his head, he’s hoping he isn’t signing the wrong thing ‘cause he checked like a thousand times and _still_ feels like he’s going to sign something stupid. Funny how confidence is dashed away the second your dazzling eyes alight on him.

“I like you.” He pauses. Was that right? He stumbled. Oh, crap. Though he feels his cheeks warming up more and more as your eyebrows rise more and more, he continues on, brow furrowed. The gestures are slow but smooth. “Can I have your number?”

There’s a long pause. Blue eyes watch you, unblinking and wide. Those freckled cheeks begin to burn bright the longer you wait. Teeth capture your bottom lip and you duck your head down. When you look back up, he’s nervously running his fingers through his blond hair. With a grin you simply nod and sign back, “Yes.”


End file.
